


wanted

by ScreechTheMighty



Category: God of War (Video Games)
Genre: Apologies, Child death referenced, Dad of Boy, Father-Son Relationship, Fatherhood, Gen, Post-GoW4, Self Esteem Issues, childhood illness, kratos is trying real hard to work through that emotional repressing, kratos's dark and tragic past, no beta reader we die like men, remember kids: saying how you feel is a good thing, wrote this instead of sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27003145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScreechTheMighty/pseuds/ScreechTheMighty
Summary: I know I was never what you wanted...But Father was right when he said Atreus didn't understand.(Father and son have an important and long-overdue conversation.)
Relationships: Atreus & Kratos (God of War)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 145





	wanted

**Author's Note:**

> I beat this game like half a month ago and I'm still emo about my BOYs. Anyways shout out to [this text post](https://screechthemighty.tumblr.com/post/631794907672117249/cinnamonclem-theres-something-especially) and [this text post](https://starlightsavages.tumblr.com/post/174458826226/it-just-occurred-to-me-that-when-kratos-tells) for giving me the nudges I needed to write this.

“Boy.”

Atreus bit back a sigh and glanced over his shoulder. “Yes, sir?” he replied. He thought for sure he’d taken care of his responsibilities before sitting down outside with a fire and his journal, but there was always _something_ to do out here.

Father stood in the doorway of the house. The first word, that familiar call, was authoritative, but when he spoke again…

“Our stores are running low. We need to hunt.”

That was a lie.

Atreus knew because his father was _terrible_ at lying, and the stiffness in his voice as he spoke was a dead giveaway. Aside from that, Atreus knew their stores weren’t running low because he was the one who kept track of everything, in the journal he was holding _right now_. If they were running low on food, medicine, or anything else, he would’ve noticed ages ago.

“…are we bringing Mimir?” Atreus asked.

“He is resting. We should not disturb him.” Father walked out of the house, passing Atreus his bow and quiver as he walked past. “We will not be long.”

For a second, Atreus was tempted to make up something to get him back inside the house and see if Mimir really was resting. Instead, he took the bow and followed, shrugging the quiver on as he jogged to catch up. He was getting taller—he _felt_ like he was getting taller, anyway—but Father still towered over him and had much longer strides. It could be hard to keep up.

_I hope I’m as tall as him one day_. Mother had been tall as well, almost as tall as Father, but she hadn’t been sick like Atreus had. Maybe…

He gritted his teeth and shoved the thought away as he struggled to keep up.

The air was cold, colder than it should have been. They were past the solstice, and while the days had gotten a little longer, it still felt like winter. _The Fimbulwinter_ , Brok insisted. _It’s just a long winter_ , Sindri insisted back, just as stubbornly. Atreus understood why Sindri wanted to believe that. The Fimbulwinter came before Ragnarok, and as much as Atreus didn’t like the Aesir…

Father refused to talk about it. They had all learned not to talk about it around him. Atreus wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about it, either. Something about it made him feel…strange. Like he was being watched by a pack of wolves, all of them waiting to see what he’d do.

He shook his head again, forcing his attention back to the hunt. He expected Father to scold him for getting distracted, but when he glanced up, Father wasn’t focused, either. He had both hands on his axe, but his eyes were somewhere else.

_Okay. This is weird._

“Are you sure we should be hunting so close to home?” Atreus asked. “You said we shouldn’t overhunt. If this really is…” He grimaced as that _feeling_ came back. “If it really is going to be a long winter, we still want there to be deer left when it’s over.”

Father didn’t reply.

Something was wrong, but Atreus couldn’t figure out what. It was annoyed. He’d _never_ had to guess like this with Mother. He always knew what she was thinking, or at least had _some_ idea. But Father…

_Classic Spartan stoicism. It’s just their way, lad, nothing personal._ That was pretty much everything Mimir had told him about the Spartans ( _you should hear about them from him, not me_ ), but it made sense. Father hadn’t even seemed sad when Mother died. If Atreus hadn’t been able to tell then, he definitely wouldn’t be able to guess what Father was feeling now. Not unless he said it out loud.

Or did he just expect Atreus to try guessing anyway? That wasn’t fair.

“If you want to talk to me, you can just say so,” Atreus blurted out. “You don’t have to lie about going hunting.”

Atreus saying it almost immediately. It sounded… _childish_ when he said it out loud. He looked away from Father and focused on the ground. _Please let there be tracks, please let there be tracks, something to distract him, please…_

“Atreus.”

He froze. Father didn’t… _sound_ angry. When he risked turning around, he saw that Father had stopped walking. His shoulders were tense, and for the first time Atreus felt like he could read his face. He looked…nervous? Scared? Atreus waited for him to say something else. Instead, Father sat down on a nearby rock, gripping the Leviathan axe tightly. He grunted quietly and tilted his head towards the empty space next to him.

_Am I in trouble? Is this about the Fimbulwinter?_ Atreus swallowed past the lump in his throat as he sat down next to Father. “Sorry,” Atreus said.

“What are you sorry for?”

Atreus shrugged and pulled his knees up to his chest. “I guess…I didn’t have to be rude about it.”

“Don’t be sorry. You were right to say it.” Huh. He wasn’t used to hearing _that_. “There is something I have been meaning to discuss with you.”

Now he felt _worse_. “Okay.”

“You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Sure didn’t feel like it. “Okay.”

“…do you remember when you fell ill during our journey to Jotenheim?”

Atreus couldn’t help making a face at the memory. He remembered all of it: the sudden burst of rage that had shot through him, burning like a wildfire, followed by nothing but hazy half-dreams. He remembered being carried, hearing Father yelling…he thought he’d heard Mother at one point, but it may have been Freya. “Yeah, I remember.”

“When you awoke, you heard me say that you were cursed, and you thought…”

Atreus nodded. “You weren’t talking about me. You were talking about the bad stuff that comes with being a god. I know that now.”

Father was silent for a moment. “You also said…you thought I did not want you. That I thought you weak.” Oh. Yeah. That. “Do you think that still?”

Atreus knew what he should say. But it would’ve been a lie.

“Sometimes,” he said quietly. Louder, hurriedly, he added, “I know it’s not true. I do. It’s just…”

Sometimes it felt like they had nothing in common except their blood. Atreus wasn’t as strong as Father, wasn’t as good a fighter…he didn’t think he’d ever be a warrior in the same way Father was. And sometimes he thought that was okay, because Father was always telling him _not_ to be like him, and encouraged him at the things he _was_ good at (languages, magic, the fighting that he could do, even if it was different). But sometimes…

Sometimes he still didn’t feel good enough.

But Atreus didn’t know how to say that, so instead he said nothing. Father didn’t say anything, either. They sat in uncomfortable silence. Atreus started wondering why they were talking about this. Before he could ask, Father finally spoke.

“I told you I had another life once, in another land.”

“Yeah, in Greece.”

“What I didn’t tell you was that…I had another family as well. A wife, and a daughter.”

Atreus straightened up, staring at Father with wide eyes. “I have a sister?” he blurted, and again he felt stupid for it. No, of course he didn’t have a sister. Father said _had_ , the same way he talked about Mother. That meant…

But Father didn’t seem mad. His jaw tightened, but when he spoke, he still sounded almost-sad. “A half-sister, yes. Calliope.”

_Calliope._ Atreus wondered what she looked like. “What was she like?”

“Bright. Curious. She asked more questions than you do, if that’s possible.” Arteus thought he saw Father smile, but it faded quickly. “She was sickly as a child as well. When your mother told me about you, I was afraid that you would suffer the same fate, but when you were born…”

His grip on the axe loosened, and when he spoke he didn’t sound afraid. “Your mother was well, you were healthy…you were _perfect_ , Atreus.” His voice broke as he spoke, becoming almost a whisper. “It was perfect, and I thought…”

Atreus wasn’t sure what to say in that next pause— _if_ he should say anything. Up until that moment, Father had been speaking carefully, as if he’d already thought of what he wanted to say and was reciting it from memory. If Atreus spoke now, he was worried whatever thought Father had would remain unsaid, and he wanted to know. He _needed_ to.

“When your sister was ill, I was able to find a cure. Ambrosia, the nectar of the gods of that land. When you first fell ill, it was all I could think of. That I was trapped in a foreign land with no way to help. All I could do was watch you die. We didn’t know what was wrong…didn’t think you would last the winter. You hadn’t even reached your third year. But you recovered. You were well for a time, and I thought that was the end of it. And then it happened again. And it kept happening. I don’t know how much you remember, but…we came close to losing you many times.”

Atreus didn’t remember much, not from that early on. He just remembered it felt like he was sick a lot, especially in the winter (even now, when he knew the truth and should have been cured, his chest ached with the cold air got too dry). It was always scary, but aside from that last time, he’d never really thought he would _die_ from it. He was just…sick. That was his life. “You really thought I was going to die?” he asked quietly.

Father nodded. He was gripping the axe again. “If Calliope was sick, and now you, then it must have been me who poisoned you both. Your curse was my doing.” He stopped and took a deep breath. “I have always loved you…” Atreus’s eyes widened at the word. “…and there is nothing you have done or could do that would change that. But it was easier…easier to love you when there was no risk of losing you. When I thought I hadn’t done you any harm. I realized how great that risk was, and I…withdrew. To protect myself. I did not think I could bear that guilt and loss again. But…that was wrong. It was the coward’s way.” Father met his eyes; his gaze was somber, _regretful_. “It was never your weakness, Atreus. It was mine and mine alone. You are everything I wanted and I am sorry I let you think otherwise.”

And then, he was silent again, as if he had run out of words to say.

Atreus knew he should say something, that Father would probably get uncomfortable if it was silent for too long. But he didn’t have the words. His chest felt tight, but the cold had nothing to do with it. It was just…a lot to hear.

And he hadn’t realized how badly he wanted to hear it until then.

“It’s…” Atreus’s voice cracked as tears started welling up in his eyes. “It’s okay.”

Atreus felt a hand on his shoulder as he tried to wipe the tears away. Something about the touch made him feel brave; without thinking, he moved closer, throwing his arms around Father. They didn’t really _hug_ much, but it must have been okay, now of all times.

Father returned the hug, and suddenly, he didn’t seem so impossibly tall and strange. It almost felt like what Atreus had with Mother before—something gentle and open.

“I won’t leave you if you won’t leave me,” Atreus muttered. “Okay?” 

To his surprise, Father chuckled quietly. “Very well. We have an agreement, then.” His voice was serious again when he spoke. “Atreus, I…I know you have questions about her. It is…still painful for me. I cannot…”

Arteus hugged him more tightly. “That’s okay. You tell me when you can.” And if that was never…well, he knew he had a sister. That was something. Atreus carefully pulled away from the hug; Father’s eyes were still sad, but he was smiling. “Uhm…I know we didn’t really come out here to hunt, but…can we just walk for a bit?”

“Of course. We can check the protective staves while we’re here.”

They didn’t speak much as they walked through the woods and the winter that didn’t seem to want to leave. But that was okay.

Father had already said everything important.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're thinking, "Wow, Kratos seemed kinda chatty this fic"...trust me, he absolutely used up his words quota in this conversation and barely talked for the rest of the week.
> 
> I'm on tumblr as screechthemighty yelling about whatever I happen to be fixated on and complaining about Apex Legends a lot. T*m C*siello is cancelled, now Cory Balrog is my best friend.


End file.
